


i'll cry if i want to

by nikkiRA



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, happy birthday you moody little shit i'd die for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24518284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiRA/pseuds/nikkiRA
Summary: “Why on earth are you making such a big deal out of this?” His voice is a little snappier than he had intended, but he’s frustrated; by the buzzing of his phone, the well wishes of people he doesn’t even like that much, and the outstretched hand Akira constantly gives to him that he is never brave enough to grab.“It’s the day that brought you into the world,” Akira says casually, shrugging. “Why wouldn’t I be excited about it?”
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 175





	i'll cry if i want to

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday goro it's still your birthday on the west coast
> 
> My computer is at like 3% I couldn't think of a creative title this is what we're getting

Goro is awoken by the blankets being ripped off his body. He bolts up, looking around to see Akira standing above him, and then he groans. He knew he was going to regret giving him a key to the apartment. 

“What are you doing?” He says in exasperation. Akira grins at him. 

“It’s your birthday,” he says, and Goro blinks and realizes that oh yes, it is. 

“So you’re choosing to celebrate it by stealing my blankets and forcibly waking me up?”

“It’s your birthday,” Akira repeats. “We have plans.”

“I didn’t make any plans.”

“No, but I did. I also made curry. It’s waiting downstairs.”

Goro rubs at his eyes. “I told you we had to stop eating curry for breakfast.”

“It's your birthday,” Akira says. 

“Yes,” Goro says, “so I’ve heard.”

* * *

He is halfway through his curry when his phone starts buzzing incessantly. 

_Ann: Happy birthday Akechi-kun!!_

_Haru: Happy birthday!_

_Ryuji: ya, happy birthday dude_

_Futaba: don’t worry, I got you something great_

_Futaba: ...heh heh_

_Yusuke: Happiest of days._ _I wouldn’t accept it, if I were you_

_Futaba: Nobody asked you!!_

“Why are your friends texting me?”

“Try again.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “Why are our friends texting me?”

“I told them they couldn’t text you until ten. I guess they took that to mean they should all text you at once.”

_Makoto: Very happy birthday. I hope you enjoy all that Akira has planned_

Goro looks up. “What does that mean?”

Akira doesn’t even look up from his phone when he says, “No idea.”

Goro opens his mouth, but his phone buzzes again before he can respond. 

_Sumire: Happy birthday Crow-senpai!!!_

_Akechi: Please stop calling me that_

_Ryuji: it gets such a fun rise outta you though!_

_Akira: he secretly likes it_

Goro throws his napkin at him. “Don’t encourage them.”

Akira laughs softly as Goro turns back to his curry. Akira had made it the way Goro liked best, and he eats silently, mulling over the easy way Akira always handed out his love. He’s not sure if he has enough space to keep it all, all the things Akira does for him. It feels like he’s overflowing, and he doesn’t know how to return the gesture. He has to claw his chest apart to offer the most meager scraps -- taking his hand in public, a key to his apartment, not killing his friends. And it’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to do more, it’s just that it’s hard to take steps forward when it feels like he’s carrying a weight attached to his ankle. 

He hasn’t celebrated his birthday since his mother died. 

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s not enough, it’s never enough, but Akira accepts it anyway. He always does. 

Akira takes his plate when he’s done and washes it, waving Goro off when he tries to do it. “It’s your _birthday,”_ he just keeps saying, and Goro is realizing that they have very different opinions on what birthdays mean. 

“You keep saying that like it means anything.”

Akira dries the plate and puts it away before he answers, turning around and leaning against the counter. “It doesn’t mean _nothing,”_ he says. “Even if you don’t want to celebrate it, I certainly do.”

“Why on earth are you making such a big deal out of this?” His voice is a little snappier than he had intended, but he’s frustrated; by the buzzing of his phone, the well wishes of people he doesn’t even like that much, and the outstretched hand Akira constantly gives to him that he is never brave enough to grab. 

“It’s the day that brought you into the world,” Akira says casually, shrugging. “Why wouldn’t I be excited about it?”

Goro almost flinches. Love always feels like bullets. He stands up and walks over to Akira, shoving his face in Akira’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. Akira’s arms come up, a hand burying in Goro’s hair as he presses his lips to Goro’s temple. 

“I hate you,” he says weakly. Akira just laughs. 

“What do you want to do today?”

“I thought you had plans,” Goro mumbles, face still shoved in Akira’s shoulder. 

“What kind of shitty birthday celebrations would it be if we did things you didn’t want to do? I have reservations for dinner, that’s it.”

He looks up. Akira pushes his hair out of his face. “Did you think I was going to force you into a birthday crown and parade you around the city?”

“I suppose not,” he admits. 

“Exactly. That’s for next year,” Akira says with a wink. Goro pushes himself away but Akira grabs his wrist and pulls him back, a hand sliding up to Goro’s cheek as he presses their lips together. Akira pulls away and instead drags his lips up Goro’s jaw and to his ear. “I wouldn’t object to seeing you in your birthday suit, though.”

Goro groans and shoves away from him, ignoring the way Akira laughs and the way it still makes his heart speed up. Akira grabs him around the waist and buries his face in Goro’s neck. 

“So what do you want to do? Anything at all. Your choice.”

“What if I want you to go away?”

“Almost anything at all,” Akira corrects, and Goro can’t stop the smile that curves at the corner of his lips. He’s grateful Akira cannot see it. 

He thinks about it. He’s never paid attention to his birthday, not since he was a child. The foster homes didn’t care, and when he grew up he never saw any point in it, treating it just like any other day. The last memory he has of his birthday is the last one he had before his mother killed herself; she’d brought home a meager cake and a few candles, and they had eaten it together outside, looking up at the stars as she told him stories about the constellations. Thinking back on it, he doesn’t think they had been real constellations, but the stories she wove were convincing enough, and anyway, how could he not believe her? His mother?

She had tried. Despite everything, she had _tried._ It’s what makes it so much worse. It’s why the wound still feels fresh. 

“I want to go visit my mother’s grave,” he says quietly. Akira rests his chin on Goro’s shoulder. 

“Okay,” he says.

* * *

His mother’s grave remains unmarked, but the stone he had left there as a child continues to mark her place. Goro doesn’t need it, of course, can always find his way with no help. He still puts a little bit of money away every month, but teenage detectives aren’t actually paid that much, and then he had disappeared for a year, and now he has school to worry about, too. He always feels guilty, though. He had planned to make Shido pay for it, but… well. 

Akira knows the owner of a flower shop in Shibuya, because of course he does; she asks what his mother’s favourite flowers were and he can’t stop his scoff, because his mother had so many more important things to worry about than _flowers._ Akira puts a placating hand on his back and handles it, and they walk out of there with a nice bouquet. 

Both of them are silent on their way to the cemetery; Akira presses his thigh against Goro’s on the subway and it helps ground him, and as they leave the station and head towards the cemetery, Goro slips a sweaty hand into his.

He leads Akira through rows of graves, and if he's gripping his fingers a little too tightly Akira doesn't mention it. It isn't until he gets to his mother's resting place that he realizes he has no fucking idea what he's supposed to do. He puts the flowers down and then stands there, hand still gripping tight to Akira’s. There are words trapped in his chest, but he doesn't know how to let them out. There's too many conflicting feelings; love and hate for his mother, love and hate for the man next to him. Futaba has been texting him various birthday memes throughout the day, and he doesn't find them funny but he also doesn't _hate_ them, and he doesn't understand that, either. He had survived for so long by only letting hate and anger and a desire for revenge in his heart. He had held a gun to the head of the first person he had ever really loved and he had pulled the trigger because it was easier just to _hate._ It was easier to be ruthless. And now he's twenty years old and standing at his mother’s grave, and he hadn't even been able to get a gravestone out of his useless father. 

So what, exactly, is he supposed to do? Is he supposed to talk to his mother like she was there, fill her in on his life? _Hi mom, I've killed a few people and I died once and I shot the man I love in the face but he's fine, don't worry, and also I died and then came back to life even though I wasn't supposed to and I'm still half expecting to fade out of existence. I think I'm in love but I don't know what that means. I'm still a little mad that you left even though I know why you did it. I wanted to make him say your name but I couldn't even do that. I don't know what to do. I don't know how not to be angry. I don't know how to live without a mask._

_What were those constellations you used to tell me about? I wish I could remember their names._

He doesn't say any of this. He doesn't say anything. He just stands there and looks at a blank rock and thinks of all the steps involved when a body decomposes and he wonders if maybe he did die in the bowels of Shido's Palace and this is just some horrible version of hell. 

Akira squeezes his hand. 

"This is real, right?" Goro asks quietly. He feels weak and vulnerable, like he's lying on a table watching doctors pick through his open chest. 

Akira grabs him by the back of the neck and turns him so they're facing each other, forcing their heads together so firmly that it feels more like a headbutt. "Yes," he says, and his voice is completely Joker, firm and confident, the voice of a man who expects to be listened to. 

So Goro listens. 

* * *

Dinner reservations are at his favourite restaurant, at his favourite booth in the back. He and Akira play competitive footsie under the table; Futaba sends him another meme. He thinks, perhaps, it's not the worst thing in the world. 

They hold hands as they walk back, pinkies linked. Akira comes back to his apartment without having to be asked, which he's happy about, because every time he asks Akira to stay he's always afraid that he'll say no. Akira is a little tipsy from the wine and a _lot_ handsy, and by the time Goro gets his door open Akira has undone all of the buttons on his shirt. 

"Can you at least wait until we're inside?" He asks, pretending to be annoyed. Akira laughs into the back of his neck and runs his hands up Goro’s chest. 

“I’d love to be inside,” he says. Goro rolls his eyes. 

“Not your best line, I’m afraid.”

He hangs his coat up at the door, which is hard with Akira pressed against his back like a remora. Akira gets happy and clingy when he’s drunk, and Goro thinks -- what the hell. It’s his birthday. 

He turns around and wraps his arms snugly around Akira’s neck, tucking his face into his neck in what would legally be called a hug. Akira doesn’t even hesitate, pulling him in close and hugging him back. They stay like that for a decent amount of time, and he just -- breathes. 

When he lifts his head Akira’s eyes are wide and bright. Goro leans in and kisses him softly, and when he pulls away he says, “I believe you mentioned something about a birthday suit?”

Akira snorts. “That was no better than my line,” he argues. 

“Did you want to stand here and discuss it?” He asks smoothly. Akira doesn’t answer, but he does take his hand and drag him into the bedroom, so Goro counts it as a win. 

* * *

After, he doesn’t push Akira away the way he usually does. Instead he tangles their legs together and runs a finger up and down Akira’s forearm and says, “That’s not what I meant.”

Akira, who usually falls asleep approximately fourteen seconds after he comes, opens his eyes and blinks a few times. “Hm?”

“About everyone texting me. I didn’t mean why were they texting me all at once, I meant why were they _texting_ me.”

Akira sighs. “Because it’s your birthday, and they’re trying.”

Goro considers this. He untangles their legs and rolls over to his side table to grab his phone. 

_Akechi: Thank you everyone._

When he rolls back over Akira is smiling. Goro rolls his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he says. Akira laughs again and pulls him into his chest, and Goro stays there for so long that he falls asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @felixfraldaddy


End file.
